


Eyes on you

by makesometime



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Illusions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29221584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: It’s no surprise to anyone that Oscar Wilde has always liked to play to a crowd.It is a fact that few have ever learned the precise way to exploit, save for one very grumpy dwarf with magical hands and a dangerous smirk.And exploit it hedoes.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 32
Kudos: 63





	Eyes on you

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to once again blame Rome for encouraging this blatant hedonism and also thank darling Jo for reading it over for me <3

It’s no surprise to anyone that Oscar Wilde has always liked to play to a crowd.

It is a fact that few have ever learned the precise way to exploit, save for one very grumpy dwarf with magical hands and a dangerous smirk.

And exploit it he _does_.

Oscar’s not quite sure what encourages the words to stumble out of his mouth that night, beyond the desperate pleasure of Zolf’s mouth on his prick and the echoing heat of his lover saying ‘ _wish I could watch you like this, weak with pleasure, bet you look incredible_ ’ into his inner thigh.

“I do so love to be watched.”

He laughs around the truth of those words, whining and falling back onto the bed as Zolf _swallows_ , throat flexing around him and spurring him into a trembling, gasping orgasm.

The next time Zolf propositions him, there’s a mirror at the end of the bed and a blush on Zolf’s cheeks and _that_ is a night he’s certain he’ll never forget.

But Zolf is perceptive, and adores Oscar just as much as Oscar adores him right back.

Zolf senses that when he whispers the potential of other eyes looking on that Oscar gets shivery and needy. Mentions that maybe they should fuck in front of the windows of their London apartment so that anyone in the street below could see how well Zolf takes him, owns him, and watches the open fall of his mouth with keen eyes.

He even offers to investigate what sort of clubs have sprung up since the rebuilding of the city, despite being one of the most private men that Oscar has ever known.

But he doesn’t consider the beauty of Oscar’s magic.

Oscar makes the leap after stewing in his thoughts one night when Zolf is out, sitting at his desk and twirling his hands in familiar paths to conjure up…

“Oh!”

The illusory audience of people are entirely too realistic for comfort, but there is something intoxicating about that many eyes on him all at once, polite smiles on their faces as they wait for instruction. He’ll need to work on it, perhaps he can make it only something that he can see… regardless. It _is_ possible.

“Oh, Oscar you _are_ clever.” He says quietly to himself, sitting back and folding his hands over his stomach. “Applause, if you will.”

The illusion responds immediately, rapturous clapping and cheering filling the room in a way that washes a feeling of such familiarity over him that it’s almost too much to bear. Fake or not, the appreciation is more than welcome. He considers how it might feel to have this many eyes on him with Zolf buried deep inside him and feels so breathless that he has to dismiss the illusion immediately.

When Zolf comes home he doesn’t quite seem to understand the singularly amorous attentions that Oscar showers on him until after, when, cuddled up and sweaty, he asks what made tonight so special.

Oscar knows he could lie. Spin a little tale. But he does rather favour honesty now, if only with Zolf.

“I thought… perhaps I might play around with illusions while you were gone, to see if I might conjure some sort of audience for our escapades. Before we try something more _real_ , you understand.”

Zolf smirks, fingers tangled in his hair. “Went well I guess?”

“ _Darling_. It’s as if you don’t know that I am an extremely talented illusionist.” He grins. “But yes, I think with a few tweaks it could be quite serviceable.”

The fingertips against his scalp soothe him so beautifully. “How far didya test it?”

Oscar snorts, turning his nose into Zolf’s chest. “I didn’t give them a show, if that’s what you’re asking. That’s reserved for you, for now.”

Zolf growls a little, tipping his chin up and kissing him slow and deep. “That’s right.”

It’s almost impossible to stop thinking about it after that.

He makes himself wait, wait for the go ahead from Zolf. Even now, he doesn’t like to be pushy, allows his lover to set the frequency and tone of their encounters. The darker parts of him still like to pop up, loving to whisper about how he’s _too much_ for Zolf, but he’s much better at forcing those away by now. There’s no evidence to their claims other than his lingering lack of self-worth and he’s had too many years with that to let it rule him now.

Zolf turns to him over dinner one night, catching up his hand and pulling it to his mouth for a kiss. It’s a tender gesture, effortlessly romantic in that way that Zolf still doesn’t seem to accept he’s capable of. It also usually precedes an admission or a request that Oscar _knows_ he’ll enjoy, and he has an almost Pavlovian response to it now, a tightening in his gut, a warmth in his chest.

“Was thinking.” Zolf says, into the back of his hand. “Tomorrow, maybe we could play with that illusion of yours.”

Oscar just grins. “I’d like that.”

He’s useless for the rest of the night and into the following day. He stirs too much sugar into his tea, blots ink all over his work and achieves nothing until Zolf comes and knocks on his door wearing one of those dangerous little looks.

He follows, like a moth to a flame.

It’s no mean feat to cast a sizable and lingering illusion that is only for his eyes. It is even more difficult to do so when Zolf is knelt behind him, sucking at the side of his throat and groping hands all over his body. He manages it though, and gasps at the way one of the female faces stares with significant interest at the pass of Zolf’s hand over his cock. He didn’t tell her to do that… Curious.

“Did you do it?” Zolf asks, as if he can’t hear the thundering of Oscar’s pulse and that catch of breath.

“Y-yes. They’re watching.”

“Good.” Zolf says, shoving a hand into his trousers. “Let’s give them a show.”

It’s exhilarating enough just to have Zolf’s hands and mouth on him, to give over to the touches and the gentle instructions, the pull of hands and the smirks pressed against his skin. But his audience have taken on a life of their own, whispering to each other, staring open mouthed, taking notes on illusory notepaper…

_Gods he’s good_.

Zolf kisses away his delirious smile, stripping his shirt off and tugging his trousers down enough to expose his cock to the crowd. Someone coos at the slick redness and he rubs a hand over his eyes, groaning at the hot press of Zolf’s hand around him.

“Didn’t think you’d enjoy it _this_ much.” Zolf chuckles, leaning against his side and working fingers down between his cheeks.

“Darling, you _must_ have.” He says, breathless at the press of a fingertip to his hole.

More laughter chases the complete removal of Zolf’s hands and he whines, right up until Zolf starts to move him, turning him away from the audience and encouraging him to rest forward on his hands.

“Let them see how you open up for me. How greedy you are.” Zolf drips oil over him, catching it up and pressing the tip of one thick finger into him. “You’re so good, Oscar. Relax for me. For _them_.”

Oscar doesn’t know how Zolf does it, makes each instance of being opened up so desperately unique and brain-wreckingly _perfect_ , but he does. The feel of the slow pass of first one, then two and then, slowly, a third finger into him makes Oscar gasp and writhe, his cock hanging hard and ignored beneath him.

“Gods you look good like this.” Zolf murmurs, and it means more than any audience could, real or otherwise. “Take me so well.”

“Zolf, _please_.”

He feels Zolf press a smile into his spine, followed by a swift and hungry suck to the skin over his ribs. He whimpers at the aching emptiness that follows Zolf moving away, but then there are hands at his waist, tugging him back up and turning him towards their audience again.

(One of the men whistles low and appreciative at the sight of him and Oscar practically preens with it.)

Zolf slots up behind Oscar with a faint hum, having stripped quickly out of his clothes. His cock is warm and slick against Oscar’s back. _Gods_ , he wants it, so desperately that it makes him feel lightheaded, the illusion flickering dangerously for a moment.

He goes easily when Zolf slides a hand up his back and pushes him down, gripping at the sheets and widening his legs enough for Zolf to settle between. He groans, forcing himself to maintain eye contact with the audience as Zolf slowly moves inside him, the spread and fill of it enough to make his arms tremble.

“That’s it, love.” Zolf murmurs, knowing how much he enjoys the praise. “Wish they could see how easily you take my cock. Hungry for it, aren’t you?”

“ _Yes._ ” He sighs, then chews at his lip to stifle a whimper when Zolf starts to pull out. “Yes, Zolf, gods yes, take me apart, _please_.”

Zolf huffs out a pleased breath and moves back into him, slowly and steadily doing just as he asked. Begged for. He’s not sure which it is and even less sure if it matters, when Zolf is speeding up, pulling him back into every delicious thrust.

He tries to stay strong, to revel in the eyes upon him but it gets too much all too soon. He longs to drop to his forearms, to bury his face in the covers, but Zolf reaches forward the moment his head dips and winds fingers in his hair, yanking him back up.

“None of that.” Zolf says, on an unsteady breath. “They deserve to get to see what Oscar Wilde looks like when he's fucked good and proper.”

“Gods how do you always know _just what to say_.” Oscar pants, knuckles white now with the effort of withstanding the shunt of Zolf’s hips against his arse.

Zolf laughs airly. “Got all the inspiration I need.”

He can feel the coil of pleasure growing in his gut, the ache of not being touched pairing with the sheer delight of Zolf taking him apart piece by piece to build something incredible and _too much_ in equal measure.

He gasps at the slide of Zolf’s hand forward, thinking he’s finally going to get something to tip him over… until Zolf’s fingers squeeze firm and steady at the base of his cock.

"What do they think? Do you deserve to come? Or should I fill you up and then leave you for them to watch, all debauched and used?"

Gods, even he doesn't know which of those he wants.

“Zolf, please, I need…” What? What does he need? “I…”

Zolf’s laughter is dark and pleased as he lets go of Oscar’s cock and returns to fucking into him, slow and steady and entirely too composed. Oscar grits his teeth, glancing up at the audience to find them whispering amongst themselves, eyes alight with eager attention.

A shiver chases down his spine when Zolf’s rhythm grows erratic, desperate, thrusts short and hard. When Zolf stills and spills inside him Oscar does let his head fall, glancing down his body to the hard flushed line of his cock, his twitching abs and the framing of Zolf’s thighs between his own.

He’s unable to resist when Zolf moves him a final time, unsteady hands moving him around and onto his back so quickly that he can’t keep his head. Then he feels Zolf spread his legs open and watches with blurry eyes as one hand comes to rest on his stomach, the other tracing over his prick and balls, teasing and all-too-dainty with it.

He feels the interest of the audience like a rope tethered behind his navel, watches them lean in and stare as Zolf jerks him in small, quick little motions. There’s a lurid little gasp from one of the female illusions and he can’t help but laugh, covering his face with his hands.

“They enjoying you like this?”

“It certainly - _ah, fuck_ \- feels that way.”

Zolf gives a soft hm, twisting his wrist in just the way Oscar likes. “Yeah. Can see why.”

It’s always Zolf’s approval that gets him in the end, the gentle acceptance that rolls off of his lover in moments such as this. Oscar shouts and bucks up into Zolf’s fist, spilling over the curve of fingers around him and down onto his belly.

He drops the illusion before they can break out into applause on their own. It’s not entirely the mood he’s going for, as Zolf moves away to fetch up a cloth and applies the kind of tender aftercare that leaves him shivering long after he’s come.

“I adore you.” He breathes, fingers flexing against the need to reach out for Zolf, to feel the weight of his lover settle over him in a lazy post-coital embrace.

“Love you too, Oscar.” He says, throwing the cloth back into the sink with a careless hand.

He’s half asleep and blissful with it the next time Zolf talks, turning to mouth against the still-sticky skin of his throat. “Think I’d like to see ‘em next time.”

Oscar laughs, thrilled and giddy. “Okay love. Yeah. I can do that.”


End file.
